


but he's not as cool as me

by aceofdiamonds



Category: Fresh Meat (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-10-14 14:59:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10538829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aceofdiamonds/pseuds/aceofdiamonds
Summary: the b word gets thrown around and josie's not having it“It’s not like they’re shagging or anything, How!” Vod says, does a big fake laugh, and tips Josie a huge wink behind his back.





	

**Author's Note:**

> i rewatched this all a few days ago and fell in love all over again. title is from brooklyn baby by lana del rey.

 

 

 

One's an incident, two's a coincidence, and three's a pattern. And eight is something completely out of control.

In fact, Josie's not even sure it is eight. This whole thing with JP started on her first night here and it's happened a couple of times before this regular thing and now -- ugh, now she can't remember the last time she slept in her own bed, so what does that make this?

"You're not my boyfriend," she says, voice croaky with sleep. Her eyes are shut, there's still something unsettling about waking up next to a naked JP, but she can feel him lying beside her.

"Playas like me ain't no one's boyfriend, babe," he mumbles back, and infuriatingly Josie can tell it's muffled because of the way he sleeps with his arm over his face. Because this is where she sleeps now apparently. Beside him. After an amazing shag.

"Don't call me babe," Josie says, even though it's not awful and she's tired and shit. She's falling asleep in JP's bed, listening to his breathing deepen again, and she wonders for the eighth time this week what the fuck she's doing.

 

.

 

(The first time (well, the first time in a few months; the start of this regular thing) happened after New Tricks when Josie had been sad and nostalgic and JP had been the only one to show up, the offering of the duvet a thank you for caring about this tiny thing. They hadn’t been nearly as drunk as she had pretended afterwards, her head only slightly buzzy on the couple of ciders they’d shared, and then the credits had rolled and JP had said something to make her laugh in that semi-surprised burst she always does when he’s intentionally funny and Josie had rolled her eyes at herself, sat down her cider, and swung her leg over his lap.

There had been a slurred wonder at what they were doing and if it was wise but Josie wasn’t lying when she told Kingsley that she’s never had to fake anything with JP. For all that she hates to admit, he’s annoyingly good at teasing orgasms out her, one after the other until she’s struggling to breathe and she can think of nothing negative about him.

So they had kissed on the couch, the cover of the duvet to keep things cosy, possible to explain away, and then JP had raised an eyebrow and Josie had followed him up the stairs, shoving him through his bedroom door and exaggeratedly checking no one had seen, and then, then --

\-- she’s really not joking when she says the sex is good. That’s why it’s been so bloody hard to stop.)

 

.

 

Sometimes days start off normal and then they escalate into situations and shenanigans that would exhaust even Matt fucking Baker. _Sometimes_ Josie uses these days to think about the alternate universe, when she got a place in halls and she said yes to Dave and she didn't drill a hole in a woman's cheek, but those are all hypotheticals and anyway --

"Josie, could you stop daydreaming and do something about my fucking arm?" Oregon shrieks, which, yes, is a fair enough request, but actually, wouldn't be needed if Josie had ended up in halls and never met Most Hated Union President Oregon Shawcross.

"Josie."

"Right. Yes, sorry, keep your hair on." A poor choice of words considering the effigy. "Here, have some Haribo -- they're Tangfastics."

"Oh, I love those, are there any dummies left?" Because they’re all easily distracted, even when you’re Union President and lying on the kitchen floor with a shard of glass in your arm because somehow they keep breaking bottles of extra virgin olive oil. Next year Josie’s making her housemates get sunflower, how different can they really be? And they come in cheap, plastic bottles which cause no damage when thrown in arguments.

“I ate all the dummies,” JP says loudly, entering the kitchen, grabbing another handful of sweets on his way to his perch on the worktop. He steps over Oregon, grimacing at the blood. “Are you okay, Oregon?”

“Does it fucking _look_ like I’m okay?” Which is a reasonable response.

“Yeah, JP, does it fucking _look_ like she’s okay?” Josie glances up from the blood gushing from Oregon’s arm to glare at JP who chews his fizzy dummies and winks.

“Your tourniquet is at the wrong place,” he says.

“What? No, it isn’t.”

“Don’t you know first aid, Jose?” Oregon asks, an understandable panic in her voice but God, sorry they don’t all have first class education. “JP?”

Josie snorts. “Don’t ask him,” but JP climbs down from the worktop and moves Josie’s arm out of the way, twisting the ripped tea towel and tying it above her elbow. Josie sits back on her heels and watches his fingers gently pull out the shard of glass, nudging Josie to get a bowl of water.

“How do you know this?”

“Come on, Jose,” he says. " _Everyone_ knows first aid.”

“I’m a dentist,” she replies, her dated defense. “Oregon doesn’t or she’d be fixing her own arm.”

“Uh -- it’s my right arm and I’m right handed,” is the fast reply, but she’s looking less like she might faint which Josie supposes is a good thing if it hadn’t been JP that got her there.

“What is this a bottle of?” JP asks, examining the shard.

“Extra virgin olive oil.”

“ _Again?_  For fuck sake, we’re switching to sunflower,” which is exactly what Josie was saying.

 

.

 

“What was that earlier?” Josie asks, in that in-between time where she likes to sit and chat before giving into the inevitable and joining JP in his room. “With Oregon?”

“I meant what I said, Jose, everyone knows first aid.”

Josie shuffles on the couch, pulling her legs under her. “I didn’t expect you to be helpful in a crisis.”

“Oh, I’m always the one causing a crisis, am I?”

“Well, your dad --”

“I’m sorry my _dad died_ , Josie,” JP says indignantly.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“What _do_ you mean?”

“I was just surprised, that’s all,” she mutters into her knees. She knows without looking that JP is smirking a little now that he’s got an upper hand in whatever this is because he knows she’s got all these ideas about him and he likes to break from that and surprise her, even if it’s as tiny as having a Scout badge in basic first aid.

He almost puts his arm around her then but there are still boundaries and Vod is sprawled on the couch across from them, books balanced on her knees, on the cushions, on the table; she’s not paying attention but there’s something intensely, stupidly, private about whatever the hell this is so Josie shifts slightly to the side and avoids JP’s eyes.

“I’m going to bed,” he announces, earning nothing but a nod from Vod. “See you in the morning,” he adds pointedly.

Which is shot to bits when Josie yawns and makes the same excuses fifteen minutes later to the same disinterested Vod. She climbs the stairs, puts on her jammies and dressing gown and then slips into JP’s room, shoving him onto his back, his phone sliding to the floor, and kissing him.

He goes willingly, his hands frantic in removing her layers, his fingers clever when he presses into her and Josie’s head spins when she’s on her back with his head between her legs. She keeps the box of plasters on hand but she doesn’t always need them when he puts his tongue to good use or when he brings out the dirty talk which isn’t always as awful as you might assume -- anyway, she’s got no room to talk when their first time was punctuated with _hump me with your mega-cock_  -- anything’s a step up from that.

Afterwards he falls asleep, the epitome of selfish teenage boy as he sprawls across the bed, one arm across her boobs, a foot on her knee, and every time Josie knows she should be pulling her dressing gown back on, collecting up her shame and her box of plasters, and heading back to her own bed, but it’s warm here and she’s tired and who really cares where she wakes up in the morning? Kingsley notwithstanding.

 

.

 

“And what happened to that nice boy?” Her mum asks on the phone a week later when Josie is too many nights into this scenario to count anymore. “Kingsley, was it?”

“I told you, Mum, we thought it would be best to end it. We weren’t as compatible as we thought.”

“Hmm. Sometimes relationships take work, you know.”

But her mum’s not getting her to feel guilty about this because it’s genuinely the thing she’s proudest of in the last eighteen months, and anyway, “Dave didn’t feel like giving ours much work,” which is maybe a bit harsh considering Josie did cheat on him with two people but it’s the _principle_ , it’s always the principle.

“Dave and Lucy are getting on great,” her mum offers. “I think you made a mistake --”

“Mum, I’ve got a boyfriend, alright?” Because she can’t deal with what’s coming next. Of course, this bold and false statement is said right as JP is walking past. “No,” she mouths at him when he raises an eyebrow, grin already in place. “Mum,” she whispers, shoving him away when he feigns deafness. She widens her eyes, pleads with him in a way that always worked with Kingsley, but, of course, he’s not Kingsley. “Mm-hmm,” she answers her mum who's asking questions quicker than she can think of fake replies and when she asks his name she groans and forgets to pretend. “JP -- yes, the one I’ve mentioned before. Fuck _off_ ,” she mouths at the person in question who is now slumped against her side, all fluttering eyelashes and swooning hearts.

Kingsley and Howard walk in as Josie is fending off questions from all sides and wishing she’d kept her mouth shut. When Kingsley asks what JP’s doing, lying the way he is, he says casually, “Josie’s telling her mum I’m her boyfriend,” which has Josie’s heart thumping in her chest so painfully she wishes she’d been smart enough to do medicine -- _real_ medicine, her uncle had said once -- just so she knew why it’s hurting now.

“What’s she doing that for?”

“To show off that she’s levelled up after being left unsatisfied by "The Pussyman,” using exaggerated finger quotes around the nickname as he gleefully does every time.

“You’re not her boyfriend.” Kingsley continues to parse the situation into something he’s comfortable with. “Why didn’t she say Howard?”

“I’ve been involved in a line of fake dating before,” Howard announces which distracts Josie from her phone call enough that her mum repeats a question, voice raising with irritation.

“Mum, I’ve got to go -- yes, it’s JP, he’s being annoying, one of his many traits,” and Kingsley barks a laugh and JP shoots something back and Josie flips them off and leaves the room.

“I can be your fake boyfriend, you know,” JP says, slinking into her room, closing the door with a click. Being in her room always feels more dangerous given its proximity to everyone else’s. “I don’t like you or anything but I like to think I’d make a pretty good boyfriend and we know we don’t need to fake anything to prove it.”

“I don’t think my mum would ask you to finger me to prove anything,” Josie points out. “No, sorry for mentioning it, she was going on about Dave and I felt like I had to lie -- don’t worry she won’t ask for a follow-up.”

JP shrugs, an easy offer on the table. “You’re turning down something girls would beg for.”

But Josie doesn’t need all that when she can reach out and tug at the hem of his hoodie until he gives in and collapses onto her bed, pulling her with him. This transition into completely sober shagging is something Josie is still adjusting to but she can admit she likes the way they’re becoming familiar with each other, the way they know what to do to pull each other apart, and without the feeling of wine sloshing around in her stomach there’s nothing making her feel sick when JP kisses her, slow, almost gentle, before they get around to doing what this whole thing is set up on.

 

.

 

“Kingsley told me you said JP was your fake boyfriend but I thought you were just shagging?” Oregon asks during an impromptu weekly shop borne from a stress-filled argument about cereal over the breakfast table. Vod had volunteered the three of them in a desperate attempt to make Oregon spend time with them after her fall from grace. Josie sort of loves doing the shopping, anyway.

Or, she does, when not being assaulted by surprise questions. That thing with her mum was last week and she’d all but forgotten about it. “You didn’t tell Kingsley that, did you?”

“No, but he seemed a bit -- what would you say, Vod?”

Vod chucks a loaf of bread, three bags of crisps, and a melon into the trolley. “He was Kingsley about it,” a description which Josie can envision perfectly.

“For fuck sake,” she hisses. “This is exactly why you don’t shag housemates.”

Oregon and Vod exchange a look that Josie can both read and not. There’s something about their relationship she’s intensely jealous of, given that her only other female relationship from uni ended with Kingsley two-timing the both of them.

“So the JP thing is carrying on then? You’re still into his knob?”

“Well, when you pretend it’s not a part of JP it’s actually brilliant,” Josie says, wonders if that sounds too gushing. “But, obviously, I could stop any time.”

“Oregon said that about Shales and he’s stalking her all the way to graduation.”

“Please don’t put JP in the same boat as your creepy professor,” and Josie thinks if JP heard a compliment that size he would be very pleased.

“Ohhh,” Vod swoons. “Kind words from Josie Jones. Sounds like a lot more than the odd shag, doesn’t it, O? Sounds like Josie’s well in love.”

Josie shoves the trolley around the corner, narrowly avoiding a display of baked beans. She grabs a handful, drops them on top of the melon. “I’m not talking about this anymore,” she announces, adding, “take a bag of those crisps out, Vod, you’ve got exams coming up -- a healthy mind and all that.”

“Says you with your crate of wine,” Vod snorts, but removes the second pack of Monster Munch.

“I’m only a second year,” Josie says, putting a positive spin on it.

“Oh, so you’ve said,” Oregon groans but she throws an arm around Josie’s shoulders, smiles, looks less and less like the scary stressed tyrannical president of the past.

 

.

 

Most mornings Josie wakes up to an empty bed, head that familiar achey way, mouth dry. She lucked out with Pharmacology lectures mostly happening in the afternoon because there’s no way she would’ve made it to half of them. JP’s on the other side of the spectrum with Kingsley and Howard and 9ams that he amazingly attends most of the time. It means he wakes up and leaves Josie in his bed and sometimes he leaves her with a scribbled cartoon of him or her or the two of them or Howard. But sometimes she wakes up and there’s a cup of tea balanced on the bedside table, sometimes warm, sometimes spat out on the duvet in cold disgust.

But it’s the thought that counts and it’s the thought that festers, rearing up when Howard obsesses over Candice’s tea-making. He’s right -- there is a tea debt, and so:

“What does JP take in his tea?”

“Why are you asking?” Howard narrows his eyes. “What do you owe him?”

“I owe him tea, Howard.”

“It’s not like they’re shagging or anything, How!” Vod says, does a big fake laugh, and tips Josie a huge wink behind his back.

“Haha! Exactly, Vod,” Josie laughs. “What is it? Two sugars? The finest milk in England?”

“A joke about my upbringing,” JP says, coming up behind her and leaning over her shoulder. “How original, my Welsh friend.”

“ _That_ was original,” Josie retorts.

“You’re Welsh,” he says, sticking out his tongue. “That seems scathing enough.”

“JP, what do you take in your fucking tea?”

“Why are you making me tea?”

“Unsolicited equals sexual favours,” Howard says helpfully.

“ _Really_?” JP squeezes Josie’s waist behind the height of the worktop. “Well, Jose, I recall making you quite a few cups of tea recently.”

“I bet you have,” Vod sniggers.

Josie feels JP freeze behind her. Oh, she forgot to tell him she spilled their secret in a commune tent in the middle of the countryside.

“I was just trying to be _nice_.”

“You could make me tea if you’re there, Josie,” Howard asks, JP barking a laugh, and God, she’s never doing this again.

(The next time JP gets up at 8, he shoogles Josie awake, dangerously waves the tea in her face, and then brings up the implications Howard has created. “Turns out you owe me a blowjob for this,” he simpers, kissing her neck.

“I don’t owe you anything; your tea isn’t even that great,” which is surprisingly a lie but she’s not hungover, the sun in shining, and so she tugs him off, kisses him, and blindly pats a plaster onto his chin as an afterthought.)

 

.

  


The night where they're locked in the cellar hiding from angry drug dealers and everyone loses their minds is the night where Josie forces herself to examine the pieces around her. She meant what she said about talking with Howard, especially when she'd taken him out drinking, and about feeling protective of them all, even though it didn't seem that way for Oregon, but when JP goes and shoves a sock in his mouth and tells her he likes her she stiffens and her brain short circuits on its way to an emotion.

“No, you fucking don't,” she tells him, wonders why her voice is shaky and wishes this conversation could happen somewhere not next to a blind distraught Kingsley.

Because as hard as she's tried, she knows these people after three years together and she knows JP a hell of a lot more than she ever wanted to and he’s staring at her, eyes sad and shoulders hunched. When will she _ever_ learn about shitting where you eat.

And now he's saying about Tomothy and soul destroying jobs in London and Josie wants to put everything on pause for a bit just so she can sit down on her cardboard box and think past the screaming in her head and the ache in her chest because when this started it was half a way of getting over Kingsley and half a way of getting a good orgasm at the hands of someone other than herself and now she has to go and have _feelings_? Fuck that.

“I can't believe you're going to work for Tomothy,” in a tone that tells him more than she wants and she avoids his eyes because he knows her too.

He talks about choice and helplessness which implies that he's factoring her into his decision and that's not what she wants -- _fuck_ , this is not the place to have this discussion, surrounded by their housemates and fearing for their lives the night before finals. She can't deal with this right now.

Later, when Vod gives in and surrenders her fortune, they climb back into the house, facing each other after truths told in their moments of panic.

“I definitely don't like you,” JP says, almost back to his usual obnoxious self, but not quite.  

“Good, I definitely don't like you,” which is the right and the absolutely truthful response.

They leave a blind Kingsley and a heartbroken Vod and Josie sleeps in her own bed for the first time in a while. There has to be a grey area between hating someone, enjoying sex with them, and liking their company, but Josie’s not sure how to articulate that without ruining everything.

 

.

 

She finds a way when she’s being chatted up by Tomothy and she realises that JP isn’t as bad as she’s always said, even Kingsley admits he’s ‘surprisingly alright’ and he hasn’t been sleeping with him. She finds a way when JP embarrasses her at graduation as he celebrates his crowning achievement and when he says he wants to hold her hand and kiss her in public and she really thinks about it and wonders what would be so bad about that. Dave and Kingsley weren’t perfect specimen of men, far from it, and, not to go on about the sex again but he really is very good at head.

She finds a way by surrendering and admitting that she thinks JP is ‘alright, probably’ in front of everyone and that’s enough to get a kiss in the open air that she doesn’t shy away from. She listens to JP’s talks of his dreams, ones different from what she thought but also different from what Tomothy wanted and that’s enough.

They make a pact to try a long distance relationship, sealing the deal in their last night in the house with a kiss long enough to make Kingsley groan, but he doesn’t get much chance to complain when Oregon says, “Josie and JP definitely have more chemistry than our kiss, Kings,” which makes half the room splutter and JP to bite Josie’s lip in shock.

“I’m sorry -- what? The Pussyman and our own _Oregon_?”

“You almost made it to your orgy, JP,” Vod sighs, that same sound of regret in her voice. “We just never made it into the same room.”

“There’s a reason I’m not letting any of us lose contact.”

“Sorry, no couples allowed in the orgy,” Oregon says.

Josie drops her head onto JP’s shoulder, waits for his sleazy comment but instead she feels his arm around her and he makes a big show of sighing. “I’m a changed man, O. Got myself all the sex I need.”

“From thousands of miles away,” Kingsley cuts in.

“Uh, there’s a reason Facetime was created,” Josie points out.

“Nice one, Jose,” Vod offers, holding a hand out for a high-five. “Using technology the way it was intended.”

See? This whole JP boyfriend thing is going to be a piece of cake. Stop overthinking.

 

.

 

They realise after a bit of secret Googling that Cardiff to London is only two hours away, the closest they've been and will be for a while. So after a fortnight at home catching up with everyone who seems to different the other side of uni, Josie books a ticket on the train using the money her uncle slipped her now she's doing pharmacology (a branch of real medicine, but not really) and shows up in Chelsea.

It's nice because Kingsley isn't here yet so they have the house to themselves and JP is still finding his feet a little so he's not overly cocky and yeah, Josie quite likes these lie-ins and sleepy morning sex and the odd sense of contentment she feels when she sits around on the couch with her tea while JP makes real plans to go into real estate.

“I've been thinking,” she says on the way back from dinner at an Italian where they talked about the surprising amount of music they have in common (funny that, how they've known each other for so long and there's still so much they haven’t thought to ask), their hands swinging between them.

“What?” which is a little wary sounding but Josie supposes she can't blame him.

“You’re a little bit alright.” She holds up the fingers of her free hand, her thumb and finger close together. “A little bit.”

Which should really be enough to have him jumping about in delight but instead he shakes his head. “Nope. You’ve used that one already -- compliment me more,” and he shoves his chest out, looking ridiculous, and Josie feels betrayed by the laugh that falls out of her mouth but also maybe it’s okay to laugh at your ridiculously posh boyfriend who has a house in Chelsea for fuck sake who makes you laugh and is actually quite sweet, compared to other posh twats you’ve met anyway.

Josie sighs, tips her head to the sky. “Okay, fine, JP, you're the most amazing, incredible, hilarious person i've ever met and I couldn't live without you in my life.”

“A little over the top,” JP criticises, eyes narrowed. “But I'll accept your undying love.”

“Hey I didn't say love,” because that’s a whole other tangle of feelings.

JP holds up his hand. “I know, I know, Jose, you heartless --” he trails off.

“You were going to call me a bitch, weren’t you?” Josie raises an eyebrow, waits. “What stopped you?”

“Wench was the word I was going for, actually,” JP says. “Less mainstream.”

“Of course -- and?”

“And I don’t call people like you things like that.”

Josie grimaces, feels it turn into more of a smile. “People like me?”

“My _girlfriend_ , Josie, okay?”

She shrugs, steps in to hug his waist, “Okay.”

 

 


End file.
